Little to the Left, Please . . .

Ever been in one of those situations where you witness something on another, and you feel like you should say something, because its distracting you, and you're pretty sure its distracting other people - you're just not sure how to bring it up?

Say, broccoli pieces, or a popcorn kernel, in someone's tooth. Toilet paper stuck to the bottom of their shoe. The unzipped fly.

Today, I'm sitting in a training for work. Diligently paying attention. One of the instructors was a firm specialist. Very knowledgeable. I was taking notes like a fiend. Then he stepped out from behind the little podium.

Men's flys are sewn to the left. Check it out sometime. Which means that to the left side of the center opening, you have lots of thick layers of fabric, multiple stitchings, etc. All forming a nice little barrier. To the right of the fly? Nothing but a single layer of fabric.

What is your point Mrs. Chako?

Well, its not so much my point . . . as it was the instructor's point. See, he hung a little right. Well, a lot right.

I don't know if it was just that the Dockers were a little worn and relaxed, or that maybe his choice in undergarments wasn't as supportive as they could be. Maybe he was commando. Maybe his shirttail was all bunched up into something resembling . . . well, you get my point. Or maybe his, I guess. I'm not talking full attention here or anything. Just a little "hey, I'm here!"

Suffice it to say that every time he stepped out from behind the podium, I felt like giving him the "adjust your junk" signal. Except I don't know what that is, since I don't possess junk.

Now if only I can strip those images from my mind the next time I have to explain valuation concepts to my staff . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife